Page 113 of Knot Here for You

My hand stretches out, just as I hear a shout from inside the clinic. I don’t turn. I don’t look. My car beeps as I yank on the handle and open the door, throwing myself inside just as another cramp hits. I grit my teeth around a scream of pain as I pull the door closed and hit the lock button.

The front door of the clinic slams open. Dr. Attersby rushes out, running toward my car with a cell phone pressed to her ear. But I’m already hitting the ignition button and shoving my car into drive.

I’m not remotely careful as I peel out of the parking lot. Sweat drips down my face, soaking my shirt. My fingers tighten and I twitch my hips as a wave of need rolls through me. Almost like now that I’m not in immediate danger from Dr. Attersby and the clinic, my body is ready for a full heat spike.

But I’m far from safe.

I need my alphas. Need them so fucking much. Need them to knot me. Bite me. Fill me.

I’m moaning as the paper towels between my legs get soaked through until I can feel my slick seeping into the ass of my jeans and onto my car seat. This is bad. So fucking bad.

I shift uncomfortably and focus on driving. Or I try to, but I’m shaking and moaning and trembling with every rotation of the tires. I have no idea where they are, but I head toward home.

I hardly register calling it home in my head. The Pack house. But that’s what it is. Home. Anywhere with them is home. For now, it’s that house.

They’ll be there, I tell myself. They will. They’ll be there waiting and they’ll help me through this god-awful physical need throbbing through me and I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.

I’m crying by the time I pull into their driveway. I had to stop once and make myself come on the side of the road. It took barely three quick circles of my finger on my clit before my orgasm hit, but it was hollow, not enough. I need to be filled, to have something to clamp down on when I come. I need to lock a knot inside me and come over and over again.

But the quick interlude at least made me clear-headed enough to finish the drive.

But the windows are dark, the house closed and locked up tight when I approach. I don’t have a key. I haven’t moved in yet, so I haven’t had one made, even though Jackson offered. But I never foresaw this happening. If I had, I would have accepted that small piece of metal in a heartbeat.

Another cramp has me doubling over on their front porch, fingers gripping my stomach like I can plunge them through my skin and yank out my uterus. It would probably be less painful than this.

When it passes, I straighten and look around with blurry eyes. Alphas. I need my alphas, or I’m going to wander down the street begging anyone for a knot, and that is not something I actually want.

If they aren’t here, they’re either at Maxim’s stupid house or at my little bungalow waiting for me. Maxim’s is closer. Only a few minutes’ drive.

I’ll go there first.

If they aren’t there, I’ll drive into a tree or something and hopefully knock myself out until this nightmare of a synthetic heat is over.

I hate all of this.

I stumble to the car, tripping over my own feet and falling onto the hood hard. Pain shoots up my hip, but the solid object provides me with some stability and I slide along it to the driver’s side door.

This is such a bad idea. I should just hang out here. They’ll be back. They’ll find me and take care of me.

But my omega instinct is clawing at me, demanding that I find them. Now. So I take a deep breath to clear my head as much as I can, curl my fingers around the steering wheel and pray there are no other cars on the road between here and the Elder Werth Pack house.

The gate opens for me and I don’t know why that is. I’m in my car, not one of theirs, but I don’t question it, zooming past the gatehouse and up the driveway to the big house.

I stop in front of the house and let out a relieved sob when I see their car parking in the circular driveway. They’re here.

Relief is so close.

I push open the car door and fall out, hitting my hands and knees on the gravel drive. I lift my palms and examine the bloody scrapes that I hardly feel because everything else in my body is in pain. What’s a few scratches when your uterus is giving you years’ worth of heat cramps all at once?

I’m close, so close. I just have to make it inside. Just have to get to them and they’ll make it better.

I let out a choked sob as I try to drag myself forward. Rocks bite into my palms and my knees with every inch I gain, but I make myself do it. I can’t stand up. I’m too goddamn weak for that.

Raised voices catch my attention. Not in the house, but outside, at the back of the house. My head swings between the front door and the side yard. Both seem impossibly far away. Impossible for me to reach.

But the draw of the voices is stronger. If I can just get close enough for them to hear me, I can call out and they’ll come.

And then I’ll come.

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